f i r e b r e a t h e r.

                    ‘Not as much as I missed you’–– it sounded like heaven to his ears: the most saccharine hymn he could’ve ever discovered. A characteristic smile began to grow on his lips, lethargic and drunk. He was embarrassingly in love. His hand that had found the side of her face shifted, thumb resting on one side of her jaw, the rest of his digits on the other, holding her, gently and fixedly. They kissed, and again and again, and he could feel the bouquet starting to slip from his other grip. He could’ve taken her, at that moment; led her to a bathroom stall, yank up the bottom of her dress and bury his lips into her neck. He pulled back instead, his free hand, lowering to her neck where his fingertips lightly brushed along her smooth skin. He needed this to be the last time he felt this; the last time she was remelded into his arms, bittersweet as it was to say goodbye to such a powerful feeling. But he had plans for them. Big plans.

                    “I’ll take you anywhere you wanna go,” He told her, his open hand finding her own, interlacing his fingers with hers, “These are for you, by the way,” The boy lifted the flowers up, offering them, a closed-mouth smile on his countenance, “They kinda go with your dress, I think,” A pause lasting no more than a beat, “–Which, you look very beautiful in, I must say,” A quick laugh parted his lips, low and hushed, no more than a chuckle. Mason handed them over, and then leaned down, picking up her suitcase before leading the pair out. The sun now seemed brighter than before. He breathed in, chest rising, and then lowering: a huff of air exhaling his lips, “As you know, my livin’ situation isn’t too ideal,” The male spoke, shoulders slightly lifting in a shrug, “But I don’t think the roommates are home right now.” He told her, eyes scanning her face as he lifted her hand up to his mouth, laying a peck on her knuckles, “We should have the place alone for a while, and now that I got you here…” The male trailed off, wetting his lips as he held back a smile, “I wanna talk about some things. Good things. About us.” 

          Not many things could compare to the feeling of reunion with Mason— it swelled in Skye’s chest like tender music growing, dancing, blooming. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t ready to let it go. She could live without this feeling if it meant she would never have to leave him again. This time would have to be the last. Feeling his hands on her again for the first time in so long only reinforced her determination. As her hands slid around to his back, slipping under the hem of his shirt as they had so many times before in that search for warm skin, she felt electric and at peace all at the same time. And all because of him.

          Letting her fingers fall into place between his, she met his comment with a bright smile, her signature one, just a hundred watt stronger, and no less dimmed by the flowers that soon followed. She’d seen them in her hasty pursuit, a flurry of pretty colours— he surprised her with them, even though she should’ve learned a long time ago not to be surprised by his endless kindness; his generosity and the sort of true good she’d never really known before him, let thought she deserved. “You got me flowers,” she murmured, her voice as mellifluous as they came— as if the rosy colour minted on her cheekbones was tangible in her voice. She accepted them with a glance at her dress, as if she’d forgotten what she was wearing, and then agreed with a nod and a tender laugh. “They do. I like them better than my dress though.” Reaching up on her toes, she placed a kiss at the corner of his mouth, “I love them. Thank you…” With a beat’s silence and no more, she continued in a playful thrum. “And you think I look beautiful in anything. Or nothing.” Catching his eye, she pushed her brow upwards with a private smile on her lips before following him out.

          While there wasn’t much she wouldn’t do for some time alone with Mason at this point, Skye wasn’t too worried— she was still riding the high that came from being in his vicinity again; being able to place her hand in his, or inhale the familiar smell of his skin and feel his stubble against her skin when he kissed her. She could’ve never imagined how much those little things would come to mean— how much she needed them when they weren’t available. “Ideal or not, I’m just glad I’m here honestly,” she said and watched him bring her hand to his lips, a smile brought to hers in an instant. “We have the place alone for a while, huh? I can work with that,” She teased then, glancing down at the flowers for a moment as they walked, her smile only growing. She pulled them closer to her, breathing in the floral notes and earthy undertones. They were beautiful. Stopping in front of his car, he easily snared her attention once more— it never being far away in the first place, his words then curling her lips into a careful smile, curious. “Yeah? Good things about us… Should I know what that means?” She asked, giving his hand a tug to bring him closer, front to front now.

                    He waited not-so-patiently–– intuitively, as clumps of passengers began to make their way around the corner, two at a time, then three, and nothing. He felt stiff, jaw jutted to the side, chin slightly raised, not that he had to look over anyone. The bouquet of flowers in his hands was held close to his chest: a harmony of pinks and whites and yellows and apologies, for again, letting her out of his range. Something he promised he wouldn’t do ever again. It had been the case as it had been before, her leaving, reasonably of course, for her family, and him working and waiting the weeks away, thousands of miles across the Atlantic. London simply wasn’t made for Mason Janes. Texas beaconed him, and she had to do what she had to do, but it didn’t change the fact that home now felt more lonely than ever. Talking frequently over the phone was now barely scraping by for what he wished was.

                    His hands quickly pulled at the plastic surrounded the bright roses, his head down, only to lift once more and see what he was looking for. There she was. He walked his way through the clusters of strangers, weaving in, then weaving out, meeting her halfway in a collision that may have just made the world halt on its axels. His arms welcomed her, wrapping around her waist as she clung to him, his smile wider than it had ever been over the past two months. His eyes closed, his head furrowed against her collar, and he inhaled her. Skye. He could wade in the feeling that name brought on. He let out a breathy laugh, pulling his head back as he held her close, his eyes scanning her face, bright and green, “My God, I missed you–” He told her, his voice softened with his grin, his hues settled on her as he let her slide against his frame, lowering her to the ground. With a hand on her hip, the other rose to her face, and he leaned in and kissed her.

            Home. That’s what it felt like with Mason’s arms wrapped around her. It wasn’t just familiar and beckoning, but safe and right. She could’ve probably stayed there forever and never needed anything else again— as long as she had him, she had everything. The pads of her fingertips pressed against warm skin at the back of his neck, tingling from the sensation and the welcome, her thoughts nearly lost until he pulled back. The motion was enough to snare a mirroring one from her, her head tilting back and hazel irises lifting to find his. He was beautiful. Handsome. Irresistible in every sense of the word, and he was hers. She could never get over that— and she didn’t want to either. “Not as much as I missed you,” she replied, lustre in every little feature, a warm glow from the inside out as she found solid ground under her feet again, her fingers sliding down his arms to wait at elbows when he kissed her.

           Perched on her toes, her front pressed to Mason’s, it became near impossible to let go again. Every pause, a breath between a second kiss, a third, and a fourth. ‘Lightheaded’ did little to describe the dreamy state of her mind when she forced herself to roll back onto her heel again, lips reeling, begging, aching, missing, pleading. She wanted the world to fall away for a moment; to spare them the time alone they deserved after this long away from each other. It was all there in her eyes, in the curl of her smile as she took him in. Everything she wanted to say but couldn’t find the words to. The smile grew, a sense of disbelief racked up flutter in her stomach. Finally she was back with him, and not just for a week or two.

             “Take me home?” 

            It was with airy lightness and a flush of pink across ivory cheeks, that Skye pulled her golden suitcase from the baggage belt and aligned it on the smooth airport floor. Plump lower lip trapped between pearly incisors, she hastily made her way through customs and into the bustling arrivals hall, the bounce in her step paused by a moment of search. Hazel irises swept the many waiting faces, looking for one in particular— honeyed eyes, cutting jawlines and a touch of blonde. 

            There was a sense of red-sea-parting when she finally found him; everyone else around him dimmed and swept away in a moment of exaltation. Narrowing down a rivaling feeling to this one would prove to be difficult, teetering on impossible, and Skye all but left behind everything when she set in motion. A blur of blonde tresses, of long legs and pale pink flowers on a sun-dress. Her fingers unfurled, leaving the poor suitcase to drop onto the ground loudly as she flung her arms around broad shoulders, legs coming together around a familiar waist and lips buried against the safest place she knew— Mason’s neck. 

                    He’d felt the guilt of his self-inaugurated crimes on the way to her; had to roll down the window just a crack, letting in the cool air so he could feel like he could breathe. He’d felt it every time he’d come across a picture of her, or gotten a message from her, text and voicemail alike, though her voice had a potency of encumbrance. He wasn’t guilty, exactly, he had not cheated, but it felt like he had, and for what? To silence the whine in his head for a few minutes? To wind up feeling deplorable? The truth was their relationship had ended, but it hadn’t at the same time, lying in the grey area between palpable and phantasmal. Her instant dismissal and forgiveness were almost too much to handle. His hands tightened slightly around her own, his head bowing as if in prayer, eyes shut firm to fortify his sentiment. Veins were prominent against his forehead, his cheeks a lightened shade of pink–– he couldn’t recall feeling this way before. Maybe once, not likely twice, maybe not ever again. His lips parted slightly, breathing in her air, ready to speak, “I guess I just wanted to forget, as awful as that sounds, and maybe that makes me awful…” He told her, lifting his head, quickly wetting his lips before he glanced out the window, “… I just couldn’t–” His addition was snipped, covered by a sharply inhaled snivel. ‘I love you’. It was whispered so delicately, so sincerely, he nearly felt his feet melt into the floor. He held his gaze with her, his hazel eyes, glass, and moss, shifting their mood.  

                    “I love you,” He answered, temperament matching, his voice low but delicate, eyelids drooping into half a blink–– he didn’t want to miss a moment of it. He shifted closer, and the floor could’ve dropped and he wouldn’t have paid any mind, “I loved you… A week after I met you,” Mason continued, “I loved you, and I love you, now, and I don’t think I’ll stop for a long time,” He repeated, emphasis on the present tense because he did. He never stopped loving her, and he’d fallen in a mere blip of time after they’d met, all of this was true. In all honesty, the boy wasn’t entirely sure what she’d think of him after all the months that had passed. If she’d moved on if she’d hadn’t. He felt silly to even doubt it, here with him in front of her, and he so desperately wanted to kiss her, but the room began to return and the chattered noise began to fill his ears. A phone was ringing. He leaned back, hands hesitant to remove themselves from her but he pulled apart. He still didn’t feel worthy. The blonde lifted the back of his palm to his nose, quickly wiping it with his knuckles, wipping off any residing emotion he had with it, something the Janes men were particuarly good at. He stepped back, eventually, hands patting for the room key he’d stuffed in his front pocket,  “Why don’t we uh–” Mason tried, “Why don’t we go up to the room and talk there?” He suggested, his voice still softened and attentive, “We got a lot of catchin’ up to do.” 

            It was impossible to imagine someone like Mason roaming single for very long at a time, and the thought had arguably crossed her mind too often while she was away. In those times, in the midst of it and so far away— well out of reach of him, jealousy was easy to come across, flaring in her chest, red hot and tangible, but now? A touch of his hand, a look from his tender eyes and it all washed away. How could she ever harbour anything but love for this man? She feared once that it would never change— that perhaps she would end up going through life loving someone who wasn’t hers, someone who belonged to someone else, but he’d breathed hope into her now and she couldn’t imagine letting him go again, not ever. Cupping his face in her hand, delicate fingertips pushing into his hair from his temple, and her thumb tracing his cheekbone, Skye wished she could take some of that guilt and anguish away from him. “That’s okay,” she whispered, stressing the second word, “wanting to forget is normal. I wanted that too— I thought it would be easier to be away from you if I didn’t think about you all the time, you know? But I did,” she confessed, “I still do.” She watched as he looked away, tidy brows lowering while her hand did the same, pausing on his shoulder.

             She still remembered the first time he’d said those three words to her: just thinking about it brought a tremble to her lip, a shiver to her spine, but it would become heavily rivalled by this one moment in the future too— she knew that for certain already. This wasn’t just a first time love, an infatuation or something ordinary. What she felt for him and she knew now he felt for her too, it wouldn’t just go away with time and distance, and instead of cursing the fact, Skye felt relieved— blessed. Pushing up on her toes, she pressed her lips to his and pulled him flush against her, not sure how else to express just how much this meant to her; how much he meant to her. Tender in his hold, in their embrace, pleading for the shelter of his arms around her, she allowed only an inch of space between their chests when she pulled away again. Her eyes were wet, shimmery under golden lights illuminating the shiny lobby that barely existed around them anymore. This was overwhelming in many ways, and when the moment was over, she loosened her hold and stepped back, allowing him the space he deserved. Clearing her throat come conversation, she nodded and reached down for her bag, sagging on the floor by her feet. “Yes,” she answered and wet her lips, letting out a quiet breath, “we do.”

                    They felt intimate, even in the cosmopolitan lobby, alone and unaware, and they deserved it. They deserved a moment after losing so many. He watched her eyes, true and full of sentiment as she delivered her words, ones that struck between his ears and resonated elsewhere. He looked down at her hands in his own, breaking contact, observing his own rough work-ridden hands overlapping her porcelain. He missed those hands. He continued to miss those hands, present tense, and as he held them and she let him hold them that’s what made it ever so more heavy with his self-pertained fact: he didn’t deserve it. His brows furrowed, his lips parted slightly, his thumbs rubbing over the back of her palms, and he looked up, closed his mouth stern and nodded, inhaling through his nose, “I know,” Mason told her, “I know you would’ve,” The blonde nodded once more, singular and certain, pausing, a muddled ‘uhm’ dropping from his lips as he tried to formulate his words, his speach drying up inside of him, “I’m just scared, I guess… Afraid, that you won’t believe me when I say if I could’ve made you stay, with me, I would’ve,” The male realized as he began to tread along his tangent that there was probably a better time and place for it; he could have at least taken her up to the room first, maybe let her get settled, but he wasn’t forward about his guilt from the get-go he’d feel that he would be doing her a disservice, and the truth was he didn’t know how she would react. He pressed on, eyes dropping to her lips and then pulling up to her green eyes again, “After I tell you that I was with another while you were gone. That I was with others–” He half-corrected, though perhaps his grand total of two women that he’d only met with months ago enough times to count on one had didn’t deserve the impending word of ‘others’. He was wasn’t sure what quite to say, but he knew the truth was the best bet, the honest truth, an admitting not only to her but to himself, “I don’t feel good about it. I don’t feel like a good man, and it doesn’t even matter if…–– If you ended it,” The boy stammered, “I haven’t been right. I don’t feel right. And I just want you to know before we even think about movin’ from this spot.” He glanced down, the blow being taken in by his own very words, “I won’t do you wrong anymore, Skye.” 

             The fear of losing Mason continued to breathe even after she had already let him go. In her attempt at selflessness, at doing what was right for especially him, she had left and untethered herself, leaving him and everyone else in his vicinity free to do as they pleased. She was okay with it at the time— she still was— because he didn’t deserve to sit around and wait, to calculate time differences and listen to her complain about the rainy weather of England through an unsteady cell connection. Letting him go was the best thing for him, and she didn’t regret it one bit. Seeing him now however, threading her fingers between his and being able to touch him, it made it nearly impossible to remember why anyone would let someone like him go if you were lucky enough to have him in the first place. What if he was with someone else? She thought about that a lot— arguably too much, but while the thought stung and jealousy flared, she could never be angry with him; never hold it against him or make him feel wrong for it.

                    Her presence came with a dust storm of serenity. More than he had expected, and certainly more than he felt he deserved. She herself was more than he merited, every inch, every look she had given him. It had been a privilege to be with her for as long as he had, and in a way, it had been a privilege to be left by her. It would likely be the only time he would feel such despondency for a person who had actually yet to leave this Earth. He had loved her proudly, and he still loved her, that much was beamingly clear as she stood, finally, before him. She still felt untouchable–– unreal, though her voice, not just static over a line, but in front of him deluged him in the most gracious of ways, all her stumbles, her clipped speak, just as flustered as his very own. His lips instantly curved when she asked if she could hug him, a laugh hanging onto the coat-tail of a breath as he nodded, stepping towards her. The male took her in, stance initially firm but quickly melting under her touch. Her touch. He had missed her touch; how vital it now seemed against the natural light and the buzz of the big lobby around them. How much for granted he’d taken it. His hands pulled her closer, his digits resting gently on the small of her back, moving up as his neck lowered, head burrowing against her neck. His eyes had closed, and he was inhaling her, his brows furrowed, a small vein protruding from his temple. Her hair, her clothes, her skin. It was a raw emotion taking root in his heart, enclosing its clutches with the grace of her touch. Something where men, where he was from, didn’t very much like to admit to feeling: an intimate weakness. Mason felt enervated against her, and he wanted to be. Moments passed, and then more did, and he finally began to pull back, his jaw bushing against her cheek, one last touch, the corner of his mouth grazing against the soft indent of her temple. His hands found her own, his hazel eyes canted down on her soft features, “… I should’ve come to see you a long time ago,” He admitted, giving his head a shake, disappointment in his tone, “I should’ve made it work–”

             A breath trickled inwards, inflating her lungs when he was finally within reach again. Out of sight, out of mind had never applied to him, not even once over the last half year— even with so much else on her mind, he’d been a permanent fixture in the back of it, rummaging, floating, haunting. How impossible it was to forget him, to even think of letting him go. She knew she was selfish to hope there was a chance for her again, but god, being close enough to touch him, to breathe the same air as him again, wrap her body around his, how could she not hope for it? She would be a fool not to, and it was probably apparent to anyone within viewing distance. How her mouth quirked upwards, teeth exposed, hands wringing together nervously, but every cell in her body tuned toward him— like it had been waiting for this every day since her departure. The way she melted at his touch, relaxed in the shelter of her arms, it was almost too telling, and she found herself nearly conscious of it, but not enough to stop muscle memory, reflexes, old habits— fingertips tracing a hem before meeting warm flesh. How many times hadn’t she done that in the past? Slender digits slipping under cotton to find the warm skin of Mason’s lower back? Skye’s eyes closed shut with the familiarity of the moment, the longing, the relief, and she breathed him in. She needed this more than she could put into words, breath catching in her throat and her eyes prickling when the moment came to an end and the two of them pulled back. The absence of his warmth against her chest was overwhelming, the tether made by his hands necessary to stay afloat, and she praised him internally for knowing— for holding on and letting her do the same when her fingers closed around his. His words were quiet but assertive in a way that made it clear he blamed himself for something she could never hold over him— never would. What happened and everything after had been out of their control. “No,” she whispered, downcast irises darting up to find his, conflicted they were, but sure of what she was about to say at the same time. “I could’ve never asked you to— I never would. I never wanted this to be on your shoulders, and I still don’t.” She gave his hand a squeeze before letting it go, her own, now freed, finding the side of his face. “But I need you to know that... if I could’ve stayed in New York, with you, then I would have.”

                    ‘I’m here’. She was here. Feet away, inches away, a few steps in one direction and he would be able to say that he’d seen her again, here, in a place both strange to them. He rose from his seat, and took a few strides to the center of the very large room, his belongings, the least of his worries now as they sat keeping a man in a suit company. His eyes carried, shifting from the café at the end of the walk, then over to reception, and finally, the front door where he spotted her. He stood in a brief slumber, shoulders canted to one side, lips falling apart. She looked the same–– beautiful as ever, her blonde hair tied back, a familiar winter coat wrapped against her frame. He snagged himself out of his stupor with a step forward, and then another, catching her gaze in a strike of flint against tinder. Four hazel eyes. The boy felt out of breath, “Hey,” He slid his greeting under an exhale as he neared, not even quite sure if she could hear it, his digits nervously joined in front of his stomach, “Skye,” At the sound of her name enunciating from his lips he blinked, briefly looked her over, an assurance that this was, indeed, not a mirage, “How was the–…” He mumbled, trailing off, clearly stuck on something before his head dropped and fell into a subtle shaking motion; contrarily the corners of his mouth pulled up into a boyish grin, an absorbing smile of delight, his eyes glassy with something unutterable, “Sorry,” He apologized, looking up, his Texan accent having been reinvigorated with his move back home, “How was your trip, is what I meant to say–”

            It was the flicker of motion, a blur of golden hair and gilded skin, sharp edges that made up a perfectly sculpted face and those lips... she saw them before her eyes found them— felt them without feeling them, like she had so many times over the last six months, and then there he was. She would’ve thought maybe the tenderness of time had softened the memory, glorified it too, but that wasn’t even close to the case. In fact, the memories hardly did him justice at all. She caught herself staring, her attention snared and held and the moment suspended in time, hazel on hazel and not another person left alive in those few seconds: just them. “Hey,” she said back, the word catching in her throat and her breath the same when her name slipped from his mouth, evocative of everything behind them— the nine months spent together before an entire ocean ripped them apart. “Mason...” It was hard, nearly impossible not to revert back to old habits and jump straight into his arms then and there... But she didn’t. A step forward and another, gingerly meeting him on the shiny floors of a foreign hotel. She had no idea what to say or where to go from there, internally fighting her instincts and insecurities at the same time. So much could’ve changed since they last saw each other— so much had. “Oh, uh,” she smiled up at him, her heart warming at the familiar boyish smile pulling at his mouth, “My trip was good, fine— yeah. Long, but... fine.” She paused almost abruptly, wetting her lips before she continued with a precursive exhale. “I’m sorry, I’m just— I’m really happy to see you again. Can I hug you?” She asked, feeling stupid but at the very least... honest.

@skyecasal

                    The long drive had given him ample time to think. He departed on Monday, stopped in Little Rock for the night, and drove on Tuesday morning into what was known as ‘Music City’. He was anything but melodic. This moment had been all he’d wanted when he was in New York, but after moving home; moving on to other things, and now finally reaching it, he was blank in thought. All he could envision was her face: shades of her expressions that he knew too well. He’d made reservations at The Omni, a onerously priced place, but he wanted something nice for her, with valet-parking at the front entrance and a grand lobby that suited the emboldened aura of the city directly surrounding the lot. Eyes widened as he entered, mouth slightly agape as he took in the tall ceilings, and proceeded to check into their room–– double-bed, just in case. He removed his phone from his pocket, dodged a family of four with a luggage cart, pulling his own suitcase along, and found a seat by the tall windows that peered out onto the main drive. He sent her a message: I’m here in the lobby. Have you gotten here yet? He felt precarious for her arrival.

             The jingling, jangling and cheerful Christmas songs on every radio station were just as annoying this year as the years before, and yet at the same time a welcome break from the hustle and bustle of a home that wasn’t really Skye’s in the first place. She was grateful for her dad and his wife, but at the end of the day, she felt more like a guest than a family member in their house, and that was the last thing she wanted right now. Driving down to Nashville was a strange experience— not so much in itself, but the feeling. She spent most of it in denial about where she was going, or more accurately... who she was going to see. Nearly six months had passed since she saw his face last, the real kind, not the pixelated two-dimensional one, and she wasn’t sure what it would be like seeing it again. Breathing him in, having the rasp of his voice vibrate through shared space. The thought made her skin flush lightly, her spine shivering when she looked from the message on her phone and to the spectacular, well lit glass facade of the hotel he was waiting in. I’m here, she wrote and slipped her phone into her purse. She didn’t dare scan the glass for his face, not yet, keeping her eyes on the entrance as she came to life. Once inside, she paused, taking everything in for a moment before she found the courage to look for him, hazel irises trekking across the lobby, searching for broad shoulders and clear cut features; the epitome of a god on earth. 

Mason: Of course.

Mason: I can't blame you. Let me find a hotel, and I'll send you the address.

Mason: You wanna shoot for Tuesday?

Skye: perfect.

Mason: You could and I'd do it. It's your call.

Mason: Nashville would probably be halfway.

Skye: would you drive to nashville then?

Skye: me too. idk how though..

Mason: I can get on a plane. Or I can drive.

Mason: Hell I'll even walk to you.

Skye: i couldn't ask you to do that.

Skye: what if we met halfway?

Mason: I do though.

Mason: I suppose for forever, but I'm not sure. I'm just letting the wind take me where it wants me to go. The family's good by the way.

Mason: I've been praying for your mom. I've been praying for you, Skye.

Mason: I wanna see you again.

Skye: it's okay, i promise. like i said, i wouldn't make you wait or anything like that.

Skye: oh ok. so you moved back? i'm glad your family is good. they must be really excited you're home :)

Skye: thank you mason, that means a lot. it seems it's been working too so far.

Mason: Beautiful as ever. I wish you could see it.

[A few minutes later]

Mason: I'm sorry for not keeping in contact with you like I should've Skye. I should've been better.

Mason: Will you be in New York for awhile?

Skye: good. me too honestly.

Skye: and how is your family?

[Later]

Skye: you really don't have to worry about that. there's nothing to be sorry for.

Skye: yeah, until january at least. might be moving back soon again, i think.

Mason: I couldn't ever forget.

Mason: I'm in Texas now. Are you saying you're in New York?

Skye: oh, that's ok. i wasn't sure if you had gone home yet or not.

Skye: yeah, i'm in new york.